Aftereffect
by silentsky93
Summary: The story of Rome, Germania, and the bonds that brought about a demise.
1. Ashes

**Disclaimer:** Hetalia Axis Powers and all related characters and ideas are property of Hidekaz Himaruya. Any original ideas and/or characters, along with the fanfiction itself, are property of silentsky93, and are not to be copied or reposted elsewhere without prior permission.

* * *

It was what death sounded like.

Fire and soldiers had laid waste to the lands.

Germania stepped out among the ashes, listening to dying flames crackling and hissing as they consumed what little remained.

He heard people screaming.

Crying.

Calls for life or salvation that would never come.

But what unnerved him were not the moans of the dying.

It was the small tug on his sleeve.

Germania jolted, seeing a tiny, blonde child, barely old enough to walk, toddle beside him, dirty and blackened by ashes.

"You're alive," Germania breathed.

The child began to wail; his small, pitiful howls ascended into the smoky air.

"Shh," Germania hushed.

He lifted the toddler carefully into his own arms, looking slowly over each limb.

His hardened face softened in relief.

"Not even a scrape," he murmured.

The child latched his arms tightly around Germania's neck, his sobs slowly subsiding into quiet, watery sniffs.

"You don't need to cry," Germania whispered, brushing away the dirty tears, "One day… we won't be weak anymore. You will grow to be strong. And they won't hurt you. Not again."


	2. Rules

A seeming eternity had passed since the fires and the sieges, to a point where they had been virtually forgotten by all.

In the eyes of the young North Italy, they had never so much as existed.

He turned from where he sat with a group of other children, beaming widely at the sight of the approaching visitor.

"Grandpa Rome, you came back!"

Rome limped over, seized his grandson by the hand, and jerked him to his feet.

"Let's go," Rome commanded.

Italy's smile quickly fell away.

"B-but, Grandpa!" Italy exclaimed, "What about my friends?"

The eyes of the others – France, Holy Roman Empire, and his brother, South Italy – moved over Italy, then glanced away, unconcerned.

"Wait!" Italy cried, reaching for them.

As the two came away into the sunlit streets, the others had fallen completely from view.

Italy's lower lip began to tremble.

"I'm sorry, Ita-chan," Rome murmured, kneeling down stiffly to meet Italy's gaze, "I didn't mean to scare you or take you away from your friends. Are you okay?"

Italy nodded, rubbing a fist over his eyes.

Rome gently ruffled the boy's hair.

"Hey, do you want to do something fun today?"

"Uh-huh!" Italy agreed with a nod.

"Alright, then," Rome chuckled warmly, rising to his feet, "Let's go."

They continued onward, passing through a maze of streets as citizens clad in robes passed alongside them casually in either direction.

"Hey, hey, Grandpa!" Italy chirped, "Can you give me a piggy back ride?"

Delight would fly through Italy every time he was swung up over his grandfather's powerful shoulders. He would become a bird, soaring high above the world as it stretched out below his fingertips.

After a reluctant pause, Rome returned a sad smile to his grandson.

"I can't do that today, Ita-chan," he said wistfully.

"Aw," Italy whined, "Why not?"

"Because we're going to do something else today," Rome said. He then added brightly, "See, I didn't want your friends to feel bad, because you get to play a very fun game today. But like any game, you have follow the rules, okay?"

"Yay, a game!" Italy cheered, "Is it a surprise game?"

"You'll see," Rome said, "All you have to do is follow me."

At last, they came to the edges of the town.

Rome stood at the edge of a wide, rolling field of dry, swaying grasses. Day had slowly begun to fade to dusk, with gray storm clouds drifting in overhead. Bathed in the pale light of the sky, the field looked more vast, more unending, than Rome remembered.

It scared him.

"Hey, Grandpa, my feet hurt,"Italy complained, his voice drifting over from behind, "Can I please get a piggy back ride? Please?"

Rome didn't speak.

He moved forward.

The young Italy hurried alongside his grandfather.

"Ah, I remember this place! Are we going to draw?"

"Not today."

Italy stopped.

Even he could see.

The man's limp was growing increasingly pronounced with every step he took.

"Grandpa Rome!" Italy exclaimed, "Why are you hurting?"

"I'm fine, Italy," Rome assured him. He forced a smile to hide his twisted wince. "Can you come just a little farther?"

"Okay," Italy agreed, though somewhat halfheartedly.

At last, the two reached the top of a gentle, rolling hill.

Rome staggered, gasping in pain as he lowered himself to his knees.

"Grandpa!" Italy exclaimed.

"It's okay," Rome said. He added another smile, inventing words as he spoke, "I'm… just pretending. That's the first part of the game. Pretending."

Italy stood still, listening. The pale light illuminated the boy's pure white clothes, which fluttered and swayed in the wind like a tiny banner.

"But that part of it is only for me," Rome continued to improvise. "You get the fun part. You get to pretend you're a big, strong, grown-up,who's not afraid of anything."

"Like you?"

Rome opened his mouth to answer.

No words could come.

Instead, Rome pulled a tiny rucksack from beneath his cape.

He pushed it into Italy's hands.

"Now," Rome said, "I want you to take this. And I want you to run."

"Where?"

"It doesn't matter. All you have to do is run away, and run as fast and far as you can go. The most important part, though… is that you never turn around to come back."


	3. Will

The dying light of day washed across the Pantheon.

Germania's shadow lengthened, then darkened completely as he stepped out of the sun and beneath the building's high, domed ceiling.

His eyes flickered upward, then downward.

This building surprised him.

The ceiling's center was topped by a single round opening, through which light gracefully filtered down from above. Otherwise, however, it didn't seem as if the Pantheon could belong to Rome at all. It lacked the usual haughty grandeur and color of the rest of the city. Instead, the vast, empty space was colored in browns and beiges, submissive and silent in their presence.

Suddenly, a violent fit of coughing startled him.

The deep, hacking, wet sound sent his stomach churning in revulsion.

A sickened silhouette stumbled beneath the circle of light.

"My God," Germania breathed, "What has happened to you?"

The coughing subsided.

Rome lifted his head, a hand clasped over his mouth.

"Please, Germania," Rome gasped. He pulled his hand away, feebly staggering to straighten himself, "I'm dying. I could barely even make the distance here. With the wars, and the politics, and everything else… it's only getting worse. Please… I never thought it would come to this… _I can't die like this!_"

"What do you want me to do?" Germania asked.

"Germania, my friend…"

Germania moved forward. Then, he halted to a standstill, a mere breath away from the face of Rome, both of their features etched starkly beneath the pale light.

The weakened man brought his eyes up to meet Germania's.

He pleaded:

"_Just help me._"

Germania closed his eyes.

"With pleasure."

Rome jolted.

A choking gasp rattled from his throat.

Germania's blade was thrust deep through his abdomen.

Rome's eyes, wide, helplessly imploring, searched Germania's.

But the ice-colored gaze gave no answers.

He twisted the blade, wrenching it from Rome's flesh.

The clatter of a tiny rucksack echoed from outside.

Rome collapsed to his knees.

Germania turned, sheathed his weapon, and donned a hooded cape as he strode swiftly away.

"Grandpa Rome!" Italy called, dashing into the Pantheon. His small voice echoed up through walls and empty space, "I was scared! I came to find you, where – "

Italy froze.

Only one man remained here.

His grandfather.

Italy watched the blood-drenched man sway, suspended upward as if merely by the strings of a puppet.

"_Grandpa!"_ Italy screamed.

Rome plunged forward; Italy raced forth to catch him, to keep him from hitting the cold marble floor. But his arms were too weak, his body too small, to uphold Rome's great and massive form as he trembled beneath the weight.

Italy clung feebly to his grandfather, shaking fists gripped over the tattered cape, as if he were fighting to keep Rome's very spirit bound to earth. But as Italy's howling cries rose up through the Pantheon, they were lost, mingling and fading away into a blackening sky.

"Grandpa," Italy sobbed, "P-please… I don't want to pretend anymore! You'll stop… and you'll get up again, right?"

Italy watched the light drain from Rome's eyes.

He watched them fall closed.

One final time.


End file.
